


Symbiosis;

by orphan_account



Series: Symbiosis [1]
Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII-2, Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: F/M, Smut, bhuni!hoperai implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:12:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1380385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He would rather spend one night with her, one single night, knowing her wholly and completely than never experience her at all. One night where he could finally tear down every single wall she still had in place to separate herself from him. </p><p>Yes, he would <i>gladly</i> bathe in her divinity for one solitary night and spend the rest of eternity in darkness if necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symbiosis;

“I don’t want to be your _‘friend,’_ Lightning!” The words tumbled from his mouth, impulsively, unintentionally. And they left a sharp wound in her heart.

She could barely even process what he just said. He didn’t want to be her friend? He couldn’t mean that. This was Hope. He had been her partner for years; they had gone through hell together and come out alive. She could rely on him. She could depend on him. He was part of her _family._

Yet here she was, feeling like all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Worse, she felt like she’d been punched in the gut and kicked a few times for good measure. She placed her hand on the countertop to steady herself – cursing her trembling body for its momentary weakness. She would _not_ let herself be hurt by this. But she wasn’t capable of stopping her emotions from overtaking her, so she decided anger would be best. Yes, she could work with anger. (And she _was_ angry. She was _pissed_.)

He was pacing in front of her, his eyes were wild; disjointed, and when he finally stopped moving he ran his hands over his face as if he were smoothing away a thousand years of sleep and wrinkles. He sighed loudly, trying to search her face for answers but she avoided his gaze.

“That was not what I meant,” he began, calmer now. “Light..”

“Don’t,” she hissed, immediately cutting him off. “I heard you, Hope. Loud and clear.”

She exhaled hot air through her nose; her hand tightened into a fist against her will. She had to get out of here. Away from _him_. Normally, she wasn’t much for the flight response – she always took down her foes head on - but right now, flight was her best alternative. She didn’t know who this person was but it wasn’t Hope. No matter how angry he was with her he would never say they weren’t friends. She put so much trust in him and it enraged her to have it thrown back in her face.

Sliding her fist from the kitchen countertop, she stiffly marched past him to the door.

“Light,” he followed her across the living room, rushing to catch up to her. “Light, would you just listen to me for five seconds?!”

She ignored him as her hand reached for the doorknob, yanking the door open.

She was floored when his arm reached over her and slammed the door shut. _Oh, that’s how he wants to play this?_

His body was positioned right behind her now, and she could feel his panicked, quick breath tingling directly against her neck.

“Claire,” he dropped his voice, whispering in her ear. “Just wait, please.”

She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling deep in an attempt to compose herself.

That was a mistake.

The distinctive warm and inviting milky-wood scent of sandalwood combined with his natural scent overwhelmed her senses and only served to contribute to her growing agitation. Her eyes flew open and she yanked hard against the door. His hand slammed it closed once more. _Damn him._

“I’m going to say this once,” Lightning seethed, still looking dead ahead. “Move your hand or I’m going to move it myself.”

There was a soft chuckle in her ear. Was he actually _laughing_? That was it. She was going to kill him. She was going to strangle him. No one would ever find his body.

“You wouldn’t hurt me, Light.”

“Don’t bet on it,” she snapped. “Remember Bhunivelze?”

(A small part of her felt bad the second that left her mouth – it was a low blow.)

“That was different, and you didn’t actually hurt me,” he countered. “You care about me too much to do that.”

Perhaps solely motivated by her extreme desire to prove him wrong (and wipe whatever smug expression she guaranteed was on his face off) she whirled around, preparing to strike. However, she’d regretfully misjudged his proximity to her and instead found herself awkwardly positioned almost directly against his body. Their faces were inches apart.

The way his tongue darted out to wet his lips did not escape her notice, nor did the heady stare he leveled her with. She never saw him look at her in that way before, and the realization that there were parts of Hope she didn’t know as well as she thought she did both displeased her and exhilarated her. She thought she knew him inside and out - that nothing he could do could possibly surprise her at this point. Maybe she was wrong.

“No,” she spat. “I don’t hurt my friends, and you just made it abundantly clear that we are not friends.”

“Would you listen to yourself?!” He threw his hands up in frustration. “You know for a fact that is not what I meant.”

“What else is _‘I don’t want to be your friend, Lightning’_ supposed to possibly mean, Hope?!”

He ran his hands up the back of his neck, seemingly becoming very irritated with the way his tie was constraining the collar of his white dress shirt. His fingers deftly jerked at the black fabric, loosening it by several inches.

“You know exactly what it means,” his tone was even.

Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides as she appraised him.

“I don’t,” she finally said.

“You’re lying,” there wasn’t a shred of hesitation or doubt in his voice.

She tried to form words but failed miserably, reduced to clumsily sputtering out half syllables at the fact that he outright called her a liar. _What the hell is he talking about?!_ He straightened to his full height, and she wanted to smack him when she realized she was forced to look up at him.

“You forget sometimes. I know you better than anyone,” he began. “Maybe even better than you know yourself. And that scares you, doesn’t it?”

She felt his hand reach for hers, and she momentarily debated whether or not to resist but decided there was no point. His fingers ghosted over her knuckles, gently pulling each of her fingers out of the fist they were formed into.

“You don’t have to worry,” he pressed his hand against hers, interlocking their fingers. “You can trust me. Don’t you understand? I will always be here for you, Light.”

When she looked into his tender, affectionate eyes, she couldn’t help but believe him. He was right. She was afraid. She was scared to death of the way he looked back at her – like he could see directly through her.

No, that wasn’t quite right either. It wasn’t through her. He could see straight _into_ her.

She knew he could. He found her when she was at her weakest moment, and extended his hand to her. He pulled her from her own inner turmoil and saw into her very heart.

But now, here in this new world she was only Claire Farron. She wasn’t a warrior, she wasn’t a savior. She was just a normal girl that had never been able to love. She believed love was mutual dependence, and it was true she depended on Hope, but it was in a different way than what he meant.

Apart from Serah, he was her _person._ They fit together in that way and what if it was in that way only? What if she was incapable of giving him what he sought? If this didn’t work out, she risked losing him forever – no matter what he said. After what they went through, she wasn’t sure that was something she would be able to survive.

She withdrew her hand from his, breaking away from his penetrating gaze.

“Hope…” she started, but once again words failed her.

“Then go,” his voice was colder now. She looked up, afraid she would see the disappointment on his face but it was strangely void of emotion. She wasn’t a fool. He was shutting down and hiding from her.

Was she going to lose him anyways?

Propelled by this fear, she instinctively grabbed the front of his white button up with both hands, her entire form shaking as her fingers dug into the fabric at his chest and her nails pierced his skin. A wave of emotions came over her, all of them ones she knew well – fear, anger, despair, affection, longing, but the last she couldn’t fully comprehend. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever truly felt it before. It wasn’t something she ever cared about growing up. She had a job – protect Serah, take care of her sister. This left no room or time for trivial things like romance or relationships and it never even came into her mind. But there was something different about the way she felt now, something primal. Was this _want_?

Was this… _Lust_?

“When I fought Bhunivelze, he said things,” she shuddered. “ _You_ said things. It was your voice.”

Hope’s gaze dropped, lingering on her hands that were still digging into his shirt. The uneasy shift in the air and his demeanor was instantly discerned by her. It was all the confirmation she needed.

“That wasn’t…” Hope started to deny her.

“But it was, wasn’t it? Your emotions were tied to Bhunivelze. He couldn’t see into the hearts and souls of humans, so he took you as his vessel in an attempt to comprehend us. You were beginning to destroy him from the inside – all of your feelings, emotions, were fusing into his being. At first I ignored it, I was sure it was nothing more than Bhunivelze’s twisted obsession with me becoming the new Goddess, but now I’m not so sure…” she trailed off.

She suddenly realized he was staring at her intently now - a disturbingly eager expression taking over his features, as if he was delighting in watching her piece together an intricate puzzle that he already knew the answer to.

Color rose to her cheeks. There was a twisting sensation deep in the pit of her stomach as she remembered the battle in a new light.

Her hands dropped. She turned from him, mulling over this new understanding in her mind. Then quietly, she asked, “How long?”

“How long what?” he questioned.

“How long have you felt _that_ way about me?”

“I don’t know how you expect me to answer that,” he said dismissively. He took a seat in a leather recliner a few feet away from her.

She could not understand the way his mood was vacillating so quickly. One minute he was being genuine, the next he was pretending to be uninterested. It was so unlike him.

“Well, you could actually try to answer the damn question for starters,” she snapped.

“I have always admired you and respected you. You already know this. When that changed into something more, I’m not entirely sure. It wasn’t a sudden thing,” he pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation, shifting forward in the chair. “Maybe it was always there. When I lost you to Valhalla…”

The words seemingly died on his mouth, like he didn’t want to revisit those memories again. She knew it was a hard period for him; he lost so many people he cared about in such a short span of time but never faltered in his duties. It was hard for her as well, being separated from Serah and the rest of her friends for so long as she fought a never-ending battle. Lightning didn’t miss the irony that she was still fighting right now (though a very different kind of battle.) She sighed internally. _Am I simply made to fight no matter what?_

“You already know all of this,” Hope went on, interrupting her thoughts. “The point is - my feelings for you only grew stronger the longer I was separated from you.”

She crossed her arms, waiting to hear more. When he didn’t continue she made an impatient ‘tch’ noise. “And?”

“And?!” he sounded positively irate now. “And maybe this did play a part in your battle with Bhunivelze!”

“Play a part? You act like it was so casual,” she advanced toward him. “Do you even remember the things he said?”

“No,” he said quickly – too quickly.

She laughed, humorlessly. “Who’s the liar now?”

A sour expression crossed his face.

“You just don’t want to admit it,” she whispered.

“Then I guess we both have things we don’t want to face,” he glowered at her, the bitterness in his tone rending her insides.

There was a difference, though. Moments before, she could plainly see in his face that he wanted her to know this. He _wanted_ her to figure it out, but he was still hesitant to admit it was completely true. Was he worried about her reaction, or was he scared of what it meant about him?

Since they came to the new world, she knew he would sometimes have flashbacks. It was worse in the beginning. His mind would piece together fragments of those 169 years that were stolen from him. He once told her he didn’t know if they were nightmares, pieces of fiction he dreamt up in his mind, or if they were reality – the reality of all the dark things he could not face in daylight.

Truth be told, a part of her wished he _wouldn’t_ remember whatever terrible things Bhunivelze did to him, but she never voiced these thoughts to him. She knew he hated the uncertainty of it. It just wasn’t in his nature to want things left as a mystery.

If she were able, she would enter his sleep. She would stand guard over the labyrinth that was his mind. She would slay Bhunivelze night after night, and she would banish him to the darkest depths of the cosmos. She would find a way to destroy his inexhaustible crystal form, annihilate and crush it in her fist until he no longer existed, until he could no longer haunt their dreams.

But she could not.

She knew she already did as much as she was able to do, but it hurt her knowing there were still things in this world she failed to protect –namely Hope’s mind and memories.

They were at an impasse now. Hope wanted something from her that she wasn’t sure she could give him. The distance between them left a dull ache in her heart.

She wordlessly opened the door. From the corner of her eye she saw his head rise, watching her. He made no move to stand, to follow her. He simply waited.

She walked through the door, closing it behind her.

**

There was a loud, repetitive knocking against his penthouse door. He groaned, rolling over and checking his clock – it was four a.m. _What is she doing?_ He wasn’t an idiot, the only person it could be was Lightning. She likely followed someone inside the complex. He sighed, pulling on the pair of black slacks he’d discarded earlier that night. He stumbled through the hallway to the living room, throwing a light on before unlocking the door.

Her jacket’s hood was up, hiding her face from sight. He heard a faint pitter-patter outside the window, and vaguely remembered the weather reports for this weekend indicated a 70% chance of rain. She was soaked. _She didn’t go home._ He knew Lightning could take care of herself, but it worried him thinking of her walking around all night long, in the rain no less.

Those fears quickly subsided and gave way to annoyance when, without waiting for an invitation, she shoved past him (purposely knocking him hard in the shoulder) and strolled straight into the apartment.

“Welcome home, honey,” he said sarcastically, grumbling as he shut the door.

He ran a hand through his messy bedhead, knowing it was probably useless to try and flatten it out at this point. He’d been too stressed after she left, his mind jumping erratically back and forth to their argument and all the places he went wrong; all the tiny details he could have fixed. He finally managed to force himself to crash (lest he be up all night) but as a consequence he’d neglected to shower.

Yet here she was anyways, standing in the middle of his living room with her back turned to him. She may as well have never even left in the first place. Staring at her back, it suddenly struck him that she was always hiding from him in that way. Like she could read his mind, she turned on her heel and stalked toward him. She shoved her hood back and fixed him with an icy stare.

“Kiss me,” her voice was rough, commanding, as if she was trying to mask the vulnerability in such a declaration.

“I-uh-“ he was stammering like a fool, but this was far from what he expected to hear her say at four in the morning. _Is she serious?_ “Wait, w-what?”

“Damn it, Hope, just do it before I lose my nerve.”

Deciding not to over-think this rare opportunity, he leaned into her, soft lips pressing against hers. Sweet, almost chaste. He was holding back. He didn’t want to do too much too fast, and this was just as much for her sake as it was for his – he wasn’t ignorant to the overwhelming extent of pent-up emotions he had for her. They were constantly begging to be let out, to finally be unleashed, but over time he managed to become a master at crushing them down.

“No,” her calloused hands pressed against his exposed chest, pushing him away. She was shaking her head, like he was doing something wrong. “Again.”

So, he did it again, another kiss - longer, more sensual - but when he pulled away she was still shaking her head and he was becoming increasingly frustrated. He was a bit of a perfectionist. He _hated_ getting things wrong, and despite how well he knew Lightning, sometimes he felt like building another planet would be easier than trying to decipher her.

“What do you want, Light?” he asked, completely exasperated with her behavior by the fourth kiss. He couldn’t address or repair whatever the problem was if she didn’t tell him what she wanted. Worse, he was beginning to worry she just wasn’t interested.

“I want you to stop asking questions,” she said flatly.

Both of them knew they had gone too far to turn back now - when she asked for that first kiss she irrevocably altered things between them forever. Even if they wanted to go back, that path was closed to them. In hindsight, it had been closed to him for a long time, only now it was worse. Now, he was armed with the knowledge of what it felt like to brush his lips against hers, and he absolutely knew there was no turning back. He had to know her. Inside and out. She already shared so much with him - her deepest fears, her strengths and weaknesses, even the worst parts of her. But he wanted – no, he _needed_ – to know every piece of her.

“Unbutton my shirt,” she demanded.

“Um…” he hesitated.

“Don’t make me ask twice, Hope.”

He nodded, reaching for the zipper of her jacket. He unzipped it, peeling the soaked fabric from her arms and let it tumble to the floor. He swallowed hard when he saw the outline of her breasts against the sticky fabric of her long-sleeve shirt. His hands were slightly shaking as he undid the first button. He paused for a moment, looked up at her again, questioning her with his eyes. _Is this really what you want?_ She left earlier that night, after all.

She threw him a harsh glare for stopping, prompting him to continue. He could tell by the way her breath caught in her throat as his fingers tugged at the second button that she was trying to hide her own shyness and embarrassment. This was new for her as well.

His fingers continued without hesitation. Another button undone, and another…and another. When he finished his work, his eyes swept over her form – zeroing in on her white lace bra still partially hidden by the soaked fabric.  
He started to reach for her, but stopped short – waiting for permission. Part of him was worried this was all a fleeting dream, that she never really came back, and at any moment she might bolt and he would awake alone again in the morning.

“Touch me,” she beckoned.

And he did.

Desperate hands enveloped her, snaking through her open shirt to grasp her hips. His warmth seared against her cold and wet abdomen, a fire completely swallowing her whole. Fingertips grazed against her muscled torso, palms slid against her flesh, and his nails carved a path along her back.

His heart was racing, his breathing labored. He had to memorize every inch of her before she disappeared; he had to record this, imprint this moment in his mind. He had to _know_ her.

Closer.

He needed her closer.

Gripping her lower back, he thrust her entire body flush against his. He could feel her heart beating just as rapidly as his and it sent a thrill through him. Her eyes were shining, full of lust. It was an expression he never thought he would have the pleasure to see on her, least of all for him.

A wave of familiar need rippled through him, so palpable he could almost taste its bitter tang. How long had he waited for this? _Too long._ He could barely believe she was actually here in front of him. Reflected in the radiance of her eyes, he could see the passage of an age. A perfect storm where seconds and centuries led him to this singular, all-encompassing moment.

“Hope…” she murmured his name, and he couldn’t control the involuntary moan that escaped his lips at the sound of her saying _his_ name in that way.

He wanted to trace her every outline, thread himself through every aspect of her very being until he was unable to even begin to describe or understand where she began and he ended. He would taste her, touch her, caress her - discover how every single component and piece of her fit together.

He wanted to unlock every single mystery of hers, perform exhaustive, comprehensive tests to the point where he would be able to recreate her from scratch and not leave out the tiniest, minute, detail. Possessive, needy, fingers dug into her waist as he took her mouth against his once more. He wasn’t holding back now. If this was what she wanted, he would give it to her.

His tongue swept across her bottom lip before pressing inside. It wasn’t perfect – first kisses never were. There were, however, benefits to being so connected to another human being. He could sense her desires without words and vice versa. It didn’t take long for them to fall into a comfortable rhythm. She tilted her head, allowing him deeper access to her mouth, groaning when his teeth caught her bottom lip, sucking and pulling.

In the recesses of his mind, the thought that he may never be able to touch her again after tonight took root and spread dark tendrils of anxiety through him. He was determined to take his time, to cherish every moment.

Before this, he thought he knew what the term “partner” meant, but now, as he grasped her bare flesh and joined his mouth to hers – his previous definition of the word was eclipsed; obliterated even. _This_ was partnership. This was what he longed for from her for too long.

She separated from him, gasping for air. He brushed her damp rose-colored bangs from her forehead, tracing his thumb along the outline of her jaw and lightly across her lips. She playfully bit his thumb.

“Now, that wasn’t very nice,” he teased.

“Sit,” she commanded, pressing her hand against his chest. He lowered himself into the recliner, mildly disappointed by the break in contact. She was smirking, though. It was the exact kind of devilish look she gave before she destroyed an opponent.  
She climbed into his lap, her toned thighs bending around his legs, and she made sure he was watching (of course he was watching – he was utterly entranced) as she pushed against the fabric of her shirt and let it fall from her shoulders. She tugged at the sleeves, finally discarding the wet lump on the floor.

He wound his fingers through her wet hair, tilting her head to the side and taking her lips against his again. He kissed her with painfully slow, languid actions. Their tongues weaved together rhythmically at an unhurried pace, each of them attempting to ignore the rapid rush of blood to their heads. Her nails dug into his bare shoulders, and she steadily began rocking against him. He groaned deep in his throat and gripped her hips, pressing her against him harder.

The tempo of their tongues increased, breaking away only for a second to breathe before they assaulted each other's lips again. Their hands clawed across each other's skin in every direction, leaving reckless and frantic touches wherever they could reach.

Her bra was somehow discarded on the floor in their urgency, neither remembering when nor caring to. Her mouth was against his neck, biting and licking the tender flesh at his throat.

He was moaning her name over and over like a prayer, like she was his _religion_.

Claire.

_Light._

Claire. _Claire..._ _Claire._

He tore away from her hold, taking her breast into his mouth. Loud moans escaped her parted lips, hungry for more. Her hands tangled in his pale locks, tearing at his disheveled hair in her insistency.

They competed for dominance against each other in a chaotic and glorious dance. It was one they knew too well.

Their bodies were shaped together in such a way, fitting too perfectly, too fluidly, that Hope would have easily believed they were wrought together in fire long before the stars and planets existed. Both of them were to be remolded for this new world, but there was no need. His body would never welcome another’s as it did hers.

He pulled away, leaving a soft kiss on her swollen breast before lightly trailing his nose along her neck and peppering her with rough, urgent kisses.

“My,” he kissed her neck.

“Beautiful,” he kissed her shoulder.

“ _Goddess,_ ” he buried his face in her neck on the final word, inhaling the subtle scent of rain-washed sakura on her hair.

Lightning froze, eyes going wide. When her body stiffened against his, he knew the familiarity of those words must have surged over her like a tidal wave.

“Erm,” she glanced down at his head cradled in her neck. “That’s a bit creepy, you know.”

His resounding laughter was muffled against her neck, sending tingling sensations across her skin. Perhaps he had gotten a bit carried away.

“I know,” he breathed against her skin. “I’m sorry. I’ve just waited for this moment for so long. Waited for _you_. To be _with_ you.”

Lightning brought her hand to his head and entwined her fingers in strands of his white hair, massaging her nails lightly against his scalp.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For?” he muttered into her neck.

“For waiting,” she smiled. “Waiting for me.”

“Always,” his tongue darted out and he teasingly nipped at her neck.

“So…” she started laughing, his mouth tickling her. “Does this mean you’re still my friend?”

His head rose and he looked into her eyes. A slow smile spread across his face as he brushed his hand across her cheek.

“No,” he said. “You and I are _partners_.”

She surprised him when she slid out of the chair and onto the floor, pulling him on top of her with a loud thud.

“Show me, then,” she toyed with the strands of his messy bangs – a wistful expression playing across her face.

“Don’t you think the bed would be better?” he kissed her on the forehead, preparing to stand. She tugged him back down.

“Don’t you think if I wanted the bed I would have said so?” she retorted.

“No need to get bossy, Miss Farron,” he gave her a disapproving look - still not entirely convinced their first time should be on his hardwood floors.

“ _Me?_ Bossy? You’re one to talk,” she let out a loud, exaggerated laugh. “Light, there’s lots of chaos readings here, so be careful! Light, you need to be back to the ark at six! LIGHT, IT’S SIX! Light, you need to hold yourself together! Light, I hope all these rich meals don’t slo-“

He smothered the rest of her ridiculous rant with his mouth. He did _not_ sound like that at all.

She was still laughing against his lips, so he began kneading at her breast and kissed her deeper until her laughter turned to low utterances of pleasure.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asked suddenly, stopping to look at her.

She blushed such a deep shade of red he practically felt bad for asking at all.

“Umm, n-no?” she stuttered. “I never really thought about these kinds of things.”

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” he ran his thumb against the tip of her nose affectionately. “I just needed to know.”

He crawled down her body, unbuttoning her pants. She raised herself off the floor, letting him pull them off in one quick motion. His fingertips slipped beneath the band of her panties, gently tugging the fabric down her thighs.

He breathed out, trying to compose himself at the sight of her full form naked, beneath him for the first time. _Possibly last._ He couldn’t shake the fear that she wouldn’t be happy in the morning. That she would regret being with him. Maybe he was selfish to keep going despite his fears.

But he _needed_ her.

He would rather spend one night with her, one single night, knowing her wholly and completely than never experience her at all. One night where he could finally tear down every single wall she still had in place to separate herself from him. Yes, he would _gladly_ bathe in her divinity for one solitary night and spend the rest of eternity in darkness if necessary.

“Why did you need to know?” she asked, squirming under his intense gaze.

“Because,” he placed his palm against her hand, guiding her fingers down her stomach, “You should be the first.”

She gave him a bewildered look, but made no move to stop him. When her fingers reached the edge of her light patch of hair, she tightly closed her legs – suddenly overcome with embarrassment. He shook his head at her, hardly able to believe this was the same woman who could fearlessly destroy Gods, but that was why he loved her after all. He kissed the soft skin at her thighs, gently pressing her legs open with his free hand.

“It’s okay, Light,” he smiled at her encouragingly.

When her fingers easily slid against her soft flesh he had to hold back a groan because he could tell how wet she was.

“Push in,” he whispered, gently guiding her index finger into her opening. “It may be uncomfortable at first.”

She nodded and did as he said. He felt her index finger press in, just barely, widening her.

She closed her eyes, inhaling suddenly, adjusting to the way it felt.

He placed his own index finger atop hers, guiding her finger in and out of her entrance. Gentle, soft presses gave way to deeper and deeper strokes.

Mesmerized, he watched her eyes roll back into her head, and fought the urge to tear into her like a starving carnivore when he felt her grind against her own finger. _Civilized. You’re a civilized person, Hope Estheim._ Her hips were rolling against their hands, slowly becoming more comfortable and bolder with each movement.

“Claire,” he spoke softly, waiting for her to look at him. “Do you know how many nerve endings are in the clitoris?”

As he spoke, he raised her hand to his lips, slipping her index finger inside his warm mouth. She gasped, a bit taken back when he sucked and tasted the length of her finger. He led her hand back down, sliding her wet finger against her clit and guiding her hand to move in a slow circular motion.

Her body responded instantly, jerking against their hands. A strained moan came from her lips, absolutely overcome by the intensity of what she was feeling for the first time.

He leaned across her body, mouth tickling against her ear, “There are at least eight thousand sensory nerve endings, possibly more.”

As discreetly as he could manage, he removed his hand from hers and for a moment simply watched as she pleasured herself. Her face was pressed into the hardwood, flushed crimson as her thumb stroked against her clit. Her free hand moved to her breast, kneading at her nipple. Soft, low moans began escaping her and he relished every second of it.

“Hope,” she mouthed his name, her breath hitching in her throat. An unspoken offer. To _him._ He pressed his hand flat against her stomach, feeling it rise and fall.

His tongue pressed inside her, gently sliding up and down. When he put light pressure on her clit, her hand shot out, taking a handful of his hair and shoving him further down. _So pushy._

He swirled his tongue around, trying to determine what she would respond to best. The guttural moan he heard indicated this was a good start.

A few moments later he came up for air, and was greeted by her vicious glare.

"Keep going," she ordered.

He raised an eyebrow. _He_ was the bossy one?

"You should think about being nicer to me," he threatened.

"Hope, you better watch it," her tone was dangerous. To prove her point, she tugged hard at his hair. He winced a bit in pain, but smirked and lowered his head – he was more than happy to oblige.

He lost track of time as his tongue slipped in and out of her and he greedily sucked and teased her clit, reveling in the way her moans got progressively louder. (Especially when she began saying his name over and over, demanding him to press harder, or go deeper, or “do that swirly thing.”)

He could tell she was going to peak. Her body began shaking, she wrapped her legs tight around his head, and he could hear her breathing becoming faster with each swipe of his tongue.

He extracted himself from her legs, refusing to miss seeing her face. His thumb found her clit and worked it to a feverish pace, watching her face flush deeper and deeper.

Her eyes instantly locked onto his, unblinking and unmoving, both of them caught in this moment. He felt her contract around him, her body shuddering. Her eyes closed involuntarily, and he stared, utterly captivated, as she moaned his name in the throes of her orgasm. Her body fell limp against the floor - absolutely spent.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling at her serenely happy face. Her eyes were glazed over in an almost-intoxicated stupor.

She pulled him against her body, crushing her arms around him in a tight squeeze. She placed a soft, tender kiss on his lips.

“I need you,” the expression in her eyes was indescribable. She looked _so_ happy. Happier than he ever thought he could possibly make her.

“Not as much as I need you,” he reached around, grasping at her lower back and pressing her smaller frame into his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, securing herself against his chest. He stood up, carrying her into the hallway.

“But we’re still not doing this on the floor,” he said.

She gave him a stupid grin, “All right, but only because I say so.”

Feeling her body so tightly wrapped around his made him euphoric. Being able to comfort her, to make her happy, was more than he could possibly even wish for. He entered his room and gently lay down on the bed with her, both of them still holding onto each other. The way her head tucked firmly into the crook of his neck - finally willing to let him take care of her – and the tired, peaceful smile she gave him could have easily brought tears to his eyes.

**

“Can you hand me my tie?” he gestured to his desk.

She pulled the black satin sheets around her body with one hand and crawled to the edge of the bed. He realized a bit too late that he probably should have thought better than asking her to navigate his computer desk. It was topped with side-by-side dual monitors, a stack of half-open science and engineering books, a few crumpled papers next to a notepad…and he wasn’t sure what else right off the top of his head.

“I don’t understand how the rest of your apartment is so pristine, but your room is such a wreck,” she reached behind the stack of books, pushing aside a pair of headphones, and finally found his tie.

“Because I’m hardly ever in the rest of my apartment,” he laughed when she openly scowled at him. “It’s not a wreck,” he protested.

The clutter _was_ organized, at least to him. He was quite good at focusing on one specific task, but other days his mind would move at light speed and he would be caught up in doing one thing with his hands while simultaneously working on something entirely different in his mind. It was useful when he needed to quickly multitask, but as a consequence it sometimes left his room in shambles.

When he finished flattening the collar of his shirt and rolling his sleeves up, he strode to the corner of the bed with his hand outreached, waiting for the tie.

“Let me do it,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow at her but nodded, bending to his knees in front of the bed. She scooted forward, looping the tie around his neck. She crossed the wider end around the narrow strip, and then underneath it, and then repeated this action again ….and again…?

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” his nose wrinkled in distaste at her work.

“Shut up,” she frowned, throwing the tie into his face.

He laughed, undoing her handiwork. He thought her behavior was actually quite cute but knew better than to say so. He slipped the tie around her neck, slowing down his motions in order to show her how to do it. (She simply rolled her eyes at how meticulous he was.) When he finished, he stood and went to his closet to get a different tie.

“What are your plans for today?” He stood in front of her, looking down at his neck as he pulled the black skinny tie through the loop he made and then snugly tightened it.

“I’m meeting Serah later. She wants me to look at wedding dresses with her,” she sighed, happily, lying back on the bed.

He wondered if she would tell Serah about last night. Lightning was better about it now than she used to be, but she still had a tendency to be closed off - even to Serah at times - and he wasn’t entirely sure where last night left them at. It abruptly occurred to him that she might want to keep their relationship private. He had no problem waiting until she was ready, but the same anxiety still nagged at him – he certainly didn’t want her to be ashamed of their relationship. (Were they even _in_ a relationship? Then again, he was probably just over-analyzing the situation.)

A little to his chagrin, he recognized he would do whatever it took to be with her - even if that meant keeping their relationship from their friends. He wouldn’t want to, but it didn’t matter. They were symbiotic, mutualistic creatures. They were always going to be better _together_ than they were apart. He wouldn't stand to be separated from her again. He did it before, for hundreds of years, and he would never do it again.

 _“Keep your eyes front, I’ll watch the rear.”_ He would always have her back, and she would always have his. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if there was a line he wouldn’t cross for her. It unsettled him a little.

Lightning jumped slightly, surprised when he crawled on top of her. He bent down, feathering her face with his pale locks as he kissed her neck. He gently tugged the sheets away from her upper body, and his eyes raked over her form, admiring the way his tie fell between her breasts.

“That’s a good look for you,” he laughed, charmingly.

She flushed, angling her head into the mattress. He bent down again, pressing light kisses down her stomach. His hand slipped under the sheets she was wrapped in, brushing light touches against her thigh.

“Mmm,” she was practically purring. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“I’ll be back in the evening,” he gave her a final kiss on the forehead before raising his body from hers.

She furrowed her brow, seemingly displeased with his answer, and as he was about to slide off the bed she grabbed his tie. With a firm hold she roughly pulled him back on top of her.

The fabric went completely taut against his throat, slightly constricting his airflow. When he tried to strain his neck away from her she clenched harder.

“Ahh,” he bit his bottom lip, evaluating his current predicament. “You know, that hurts a bit.”

(But he kind of liked it.)

“Oh?” she feigned innocence. She grabbed the back of his head with her other hand and shoved his mouth against hers hard.

“You are positively awful,” he whispered against the corner of her lips. He could feel her lips curve into a smirk.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she was well aware she owned him, and he was perfectly fine with that.


End file.
